A Different Life
by red panda with black wings
Summary: Harry is taken from the Dursleys' doorstep only a few hours after he is placed there. The truth about him is revealed, and he is placed among those with whom he belongs. Basically AU, though the things at Hogwarts are the same.
1. Chapter 1

**I've been writing nonstop lately, and I felt the urge to do this, so I did. **

**Disclaimer: HP does NOT belong to me, sadly.  
**

A few hours had gone by since the one year old had been placed on the Dursleys' doorstep. The boy slept quietly, not knowing that his life was about to change paths yet again.

For just a moment, the whole street seemed to stir, as if sensing the arrival of magic for the second time that night.

A barely audible _swish_ was heard from above. Had the casual observer been there and looked up, they would have found themselves in a state of shock.

For flying down to the house of Number 4 Private Drive was a creature of the species of pegasi. With the same muscular body and legs, the only thing discerning it from a common horse were the large, delicate wings on which it flew.

Had the observer not already fainted from surprise, they would have realized that there was something even more remarkable than the pegasi itself: There was someone _riding _it.

The pegasi landed with a low _thump _on the pavement. The rider slid off it.

Our observer, now wondering whether they had had too much to drink, would be entranced.

The rider's attire itself was not uncommon; simple jeans and a black t-shirt. However, despite this, you found yourself knowing that he was far more than his clothes gave off. It was his face, and the way he held himself, in contrast to his clothing, that startled you.

He had a face of delicate form and angular frame. His eyebrows, chestnut brown, arched in a way that looked brooding and intelligent. His eyes were triangular, and no matter how many times you looked at them, you could never say for sure what color they were. His skin was pale hair was a blond mane, falling about his shoulders. And his ears were tapered and pointed.

His body was lean and radiated power, both magical and physical.

With long, sweeping strides, he walked over to the still-sleeping child. His brow puckered as he studied they child's face.

"Glamourie," He muttered in a voice like honey, "I had thought I sensed wizardry, but I didn't believe..."

He gently picked the boy up, who shifted in his arms.

Bowing his head, he murmured,"_Atklāt to, kas ir slēpta" _and placed a kiss on the child's brow.

In an instant, the illusion that had been cast upon the boy vanished.

His hair was truly a deep auburn and far more smooth and tidy. His skin was the color of ivory. His ears were pointed, much in the way the rider's were. His facial structure, likewise, resembled his as well.

The rider smiled in satisfaction. "Ah, yes, little one, you are just as I."

The smile dropped off his face as he noticed that the scar still scowled.

"Wizards," he spat in disgust, "the only creatures who would do such a thing to a yet, you survived. Perhaps it was written in the stars that you should be different, from the moment you were created."

The boy gave a small hiccup and opened his eyes.

The same brilliant emerald green as before.

The elder chuckled lightly. "The eyes are somewhat unusual, but that is only to be expected, considering your...heritage."

He looked up at the twinkling lights that hung in the sky. "I pray, for your sake, little one, that you should never be forced into the expectations of wizards. For while they look only at the figurehead, they care not for the price that is payed by their hero."

He gazed upon the child sadly. "And you, little one, are the hero they all look for."

Without another word, he placed the bundle on the pegasi's back. "Do not let him fall," He said sorrowfully to the pegasi.

It snorted, and looked at him, as if to ask him where he went that it could not accompany him.

"My friend, you have been far more loyal than I ever would have asked. You have been a good friend. But my purpose in the world draws to a close. I have done what the fates have asked of me, and they require me no longer. I ask that you guide the one whom I place with you, and keep him safe. My last request. The hopes of many ride with him."

The pegasi whinnied, and looked at him with miserable eyes. "I know, old friend. I shall remember and miss you. Now go, and take my blessing with you."

He leaned over to the boy, who stared at him with wide eyes. "Let it be acknowledged and never questioned, you are my son. On you I place my legacy. Do me proud. Never bow to those who demand it. Never submit to anything less than you deserve. Hold your head high, even in the dark, and know that my spirit stays with you always."

With these parting words, he cried, "Go now!" The pegasi, with one last noise of discontent, flew off, knowing not what fate held for this young child.

And around the world, unknowing wizards were celebrating, cheering for the supposed defeat of the Dark Lord, Voldemort, crying out in voices of drunken pleasure, "

"To Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived!"

**So, I'm guessing the majority of the people who read this are able to guess what Harry truly is. I didn't exactly try to make it difficult.**

**If you want me to continue this, review!**

**Doctor Pepper  
**


	2. Chapter 2 The Law of the Wild

Thosar swung with his blade at Eifiten. His opponent darted out of the way, laughing scornfully.

"Can you not do any better than a mere wizard, Thosar?"Eifiten taunted him. "Perhaps you should tear off your wings and ears and join them, rather than force your presence upon us."

Thosar felt raw anger at the faerie's words. He brought his sword up just in time to block a blow that would have killed him in real battle.

Wizard. One of the foulest and most degrading insults amongst their kind.

His eyes, which remained the same color constantly(much as wizards' did), had brought great suspicion upon him when he had entered through their gates on the back of a pegasi.

He would only learn the story of his unexpected arrival many years later.

He gritted his teeth, and pushed back against Eifiten's sword. The faerie tilted his head.

"Oh, might I have struck a nerve there?" He laughed.

He was currently fifteen, in human years. The faeries felt no need for long-spanning time, but recorded each mortal year dutifully as it supposedly went by. Yet while they acknowledged that it was necessary to keep a small time frame, so as to be able to keep things circulating,they were quite happy to let years pass by without any worriment over the next.

Thosar brought his sword around, nearly managing to clip Eifiten's neck in the faerie's surprise.

"I have to wonder what the others should say, Eifiten, should it be found that the words you speak are just that: Words, nothing more."

Anger flickered in Eifiten's shifting eyes. With a quick move, he disarmed him, and brought his sword up to Thosar's throat.

He had been taken in by an aged faerie who had been willing to teach him. From him, Thosar had learned many things, not excepting his entrance to the faerie world.

"You would be wise to avoid challenging me," Eifiten hissed. With a final glare, he stalked off.

"Why must you anger him every time you exchange words?" A voice called out.

He glanced behind him to find his companion, Lafethal, scrutinizing at him.

He sheathed his sword. "He insists upon belittling all those he deems to be beneath his status."

"Even so, it does not do your intellect good to insult one who holds such high favor among the faerie." Her eyes were firm.

"If he would not mock me so, I would feel no need to do so."

She sighed. "Eifiten is one who feels that difference automatically equals weakness. Do not allow your past to become a weakness, for many know it, and would be quick to exploit it."

Thosar grimaced. "Eifiten does just that already."

Lafethal shook her head. "The only action available is to ignore him. For now, however, perhaps it would be best if you went hunting, as it calms you."

Thosar brightened. "Of course. Thank you for the suggestion."

He walked off, her troubled gaze following him.

* * *

Thosar found his mentor in the library, as he was often. Thosar bowed to show his inferiority, and said, "Master, I go hunting for deer and elk."

He gave no sign that he heard. Thosar took this to mean that he understood, and sped to find his hunting gear.

He came upon his pouch hanging from a low-branched tree, undoubtedly placed there by a faerie who had recognized it as his. From it he withdrew his bow, string, and sling of arrows, which he secured around his chest. Taking the bow in hands, he bent it till he was able to slip the string's looped ends over its notched ends. He admired the complete bow for a moment.

He had carved the wood himself from a fallen branch from an ebony tree. He had meticulously crafted it, taking hours to finish. Then, he had been forced to ask for a bowstring from one of the older faeries, a task that assaulted his pride, for he had attempted many times to make one and had failed. They had produced it without any criticism, to his great relief.

The arrows, too, he had carved. The head had been tricky, for only the sharpest arrowheads would do. And they had to be barbed, so as to prevent it from falling out of the prey's hide.

The feathers he had collected from the remains of dead birds that had been killed by other animals. It was rare to find one, for predators preferred to eat the whole body, rather than leave it and attract scavengers.

Finished with his musings, he set off into the forest.

* * *

He moved silently, a ghost panther, stepping lightly, weightlessly through the foliage coating the ground. It was in this time only that he felt truly alone, away from others, just him and himself. It was here that he allowed his instincts take over, instead of doing what was required and expected.

_Snap._

He whipped around, eyes scanning the area. There! A young stag, alone, drinking from a nearby pool.

He crept closer, stare never moving from the deer. He notched an arrow onto his string, preparing to shoot.

The stag looked up; both froze.

The stag's eyes, wide with fear, seemed to peer into his soul.

Thosar contemplated letting it go.

He then proceeded to shoot it straight through the heart.

It was a quick, painless death, a fact that he was glad for. He felt no inclination to stand there and watch the life drain out of the animal as it squirmed and cried out in agony.

Bringing out the knife he had sheathed next to his sword, he carefully cut the stag into pieces that he could carry. The faeries always used nearly every part of the animal, to show respect for the life it gave to sustain them.

Thosar had nearly snorted when he heard this; the animal had not valiantly sacrificed its life. No, it had but no choice in the matter of its life or death. That was the way it always was, for animals, Thosar saw as he hunted. In the forest, it was a chance game of live or die; you simply had to hope that the fates would be kind to you and allow you to live. If they didn't... you died. For where one gets to live, another must die in its place. Thus is the law of the wild.


	3. Chapter 3 All it Takes is One Old Man

**Okay, I just now noticed some errors in the first chapter. So here they are, as originally intended:**

**The smile dropped off his face as he noticed that the scar still remained. He scowled.**

** "Wizards," he spat in disgust, "the only creatures who would do such a thing to a , you survived. Perhaps it was written in the stars that you should be different, from the moment you were created."**

**His skin was pale white. His hair was a blond mane, falling about his shoulders.**

Thosar skimmed through the passage, absorbing the main points that the words danced around. He closed the book, glowering at its cover. Even the thickest creature that read it could discern that the author clearly believed that faeries were superior to all other beings.

It was true, their history had been relatively peaceful, in comparison to those of other species. There had been no bloody wars over power, no times of death in high numbers.

But the faeries had their faults just as well. They turned a blind eye to any troubles other than their own, shunned anything different from what they were used to. Like him, for example.

Look at the house elves. Distant cousins of theirs, yet they had stood by and watched as they were enslaved by wizards.

The faeries lived far away from any other species, for fear that should they mingle with others of different kind, they should suddenly become bloodthirsty mongrels, out to kill all who crossed their path.

"Having difficulty concentrating?" his Master spoke from behind him, causing him to start.

"I apologize, Master," he muttered to the book in front of him," some of the ideas in the book...disturb me."

Master's face hardened slightly, then returned to its blank mask. "Continue reading."

* * *

He would always stand a ways apart from the others. From the scar on his forehead, to his never-changing eyes, to his wings,to his beliefs, he was not truly one of them, a fact that a few set out to make obvious to him. He had no allies other than Lafethal, who he privately believed befriended him merely out of pity. Eifiten, in particular, went out of his way to isolate him.

When he was taught magic, he progressed far faster than the others, yet he trailed behind in sword-craft. The only weapon he truly excelled with was the bow, a tool regarded as useless.

The pegasi loved him. One, in particular, the oldest of the herd, was near always by his side, protectively watching. It was disconcerting.

He had known there was a secret concerning him, a secret he nor anyone else knew.

Yet he never would have guessed it when it came out in the form of one wizard.

* * *

To describe the Eternal City is a hopeless quest, for the faerie were astounding architects.

What could be said? In the center of the city there stood three huge buildings. The library, the Council Hall, and the Exhibit. The library held massive amounts of literature, all in different languages. The Council Hall, scarcely ever used nowadays, was used whenever a problem arose that the Council was required to solve.

The faeries loved art. Mosaics, sculptures, paintings, drawings, anything that held a trace of beauty and elegance in it, the faeries adored it. It was in the Exhibit that the masterpieces collected over the years were stored, displayed for all to observe.

Outside of these three buildings, large trees clustered close together. In these, amazingly, the faeries lived. The trees, with trunks the as wide as five men extending their arms, form a house above, the wood stretching out to form several rooms in each.

It was said, long ago, that faeries were able to shape plants to their will with their voices. No-one can do such a feat now, but all the faeries live in the remains, and there are still many empty houses.

* * *

The wizard appeared suddenly outside their gates, humming to himself as the guards questioned him.

Dumbledore, he said his name was.

"Your kind are not welcome here, wizard," one of the guards snarled at him

Dumbledore raised an eyebrow. "And yet, you would accept one of our kind into your city, as one of your own?"

"We know not of what you speak," The other said, venom in his voice.

Dumbledore smiled pleasantly. "Than this should come as a surprise to you. The one you call Thosar is a wizard."

* * *

Thosar was practicing reading in Latin when two guards appeared.

"Your presence is required by the Council," they intoned.

Was it just him, or were they glaring at him?

"Pardon?" he asked. Not answering, the two roughly seized him by the shoulders and began marching him to the Council Hall. He said in an acidic tone, "Explain to me why it is that you happen to be dragging me to the Council."

The two exchanged glances. They reached the Council Hall, and shoved him in.

"We have brought Thosar," they droned and hastily exited.

The Council was seated at their usual spot. However, something had caused a stir among them, he could tell.

An old man stood before them, with a long, flowing beard and crooked nose. His robes...

Thosar felt a jolt. The man was a _wizard_, and yet he stood before the Council calmly.

"Good," the Council leader stated, "let us begin."

Thosar felt the need to interrupt. "Pardon me, sir, but might I ask as to why I've been called here?"

The faerie turned his eyes to him. A wicked grin flashed across his face. "Why that, Thosar, is easily answered. This wizard," he said gesturing to the old man, "claims that you're one of them."

**Okay, I modeled the Eternal City off of the Elven city in Eragon. Review! Doctor Pepper**


	4. Chapter 4 You're a Wizard, Thosar

Thosar blinked, then quickly recovered. "What proof does he present of his claim?"

The old man stepped forward, and told a story. A story of a young wizard baby. A baby who had defeated, against all odds, a Dark Lord. The only remainder of the encounter, he stated, was a scar. A lightning-bolt scar on the baby's forehead. At this, all eyes in the room swiveled to peer at Thosar's scar.

Thosar was numb. He faintly heard one of the Council members argue, "Despite what you say and the scar on his forehead, he is still obviously faerie. Never before have faeries and wizards mixed without bloodshed. Do you expect us to send him into your world with only your tale and be slaughtered?"

The old man simply replied, in an informative voice, "While he is faerie, he is also wizard. Do not tell me you have not smelt it in his blood, have not noticed the difference."

The Council exchanged glances. Panic wormed his way into Thosar's heart. He asked, keeping his voice steady, "How can the blood of both wizard and faerie flow through one's body? It is unheard of."

The old man coughed. "How it is that you came to be this way is beyond me. However, we have been searching for you since your eleventh birthday. We had some...difficulty tracking you."

The Council looked anywhere but him. "Perhaps it is for the best..." He heard one member murmur. "You have expressed feelings of discontent over the way are society works, no?"

"So you would send me away, simply because you would like to believe one wizard's words." His voice was icy cold.

The Council leader, ignoring him, called out, "All in favor?"

Reluctantly, each raised their hand.

White hot fury filled him. "Very well," he said. "Let it be recorded that on this day, I, Thosar, was declared to be an outcast, all in the words of one wizard."

The old man gave him a blank smile. "If that's over, let's be going."

"Indeed, old man." His words were full of spite, yet the old man said nothing as they walked out of the Eternal City's gates, never to return.

* * *

He realized, with bitterness, that he had left behind his hunting gear in his forgetfulness.

The old man, once out of the city's gates, had held out his arm, saying, "Hold my arm tightly, and don't let go."

He did so unquestioningly. In a flash, he felt a sickening tug, as if being pulled and stretched through a rubber tube.

He stumbled as his feet hit the ground, such clumsiness feeling unnatural to him. The old man, Dumbledore, he had said his name was, had easily stayed on his feet. How could this man, a wizard, stay on his feet with such ease, while he, one of the faeries, known for their gracefulness, nearly fell?

They had appeared in a dark room. Even with light-sensitive eyes, Thosar could barely see the walls around him.

A light flickered.

Dumbledore said, looking at home in the cramped room, said, "Now, my boy, there are a few things you need to know before entering Diagon Alley."

Diagon Alley. The name was unfamiliar to him.

"First off, while your official name is Harry James Potter, it would be best for you and the wizarding world if you went by your faerie name. At Hogwarts, a school for young witches and wizards such as yourself that you'll be attending, you shall be known as 'Thosar Springfoot'. It will be more convenient than explaining who you truly are. According to your story, you'll be an exchange student from America. Not so hard to believe, seeing as the Americans are an odd lot. Have you got that?"

Narrowing his eyes to a slit, Thosar nodded.

"Good!" Dumbledore said, clapping his hands. "Than let's be off! Oh, yes, and you'll be needing this." He handed Thosar an envelope. "Well, my boy, good luck!"He disappeared with a _pop! _

For not the first time, Thosar felt the urge to bodily harm the wizard the next time they met. Had it not been for him, and his persistence, he would not be here, among wizards.

He knit his brows together, and with an outtake of breath, he opened the door and walked out.

Overwhelmed. The only word that could describe how he felt.

He found himself in a a huge crowd of wizards, all moving throughout Diagon Alley. Bright stores lined the alley, with many people coming and going in and out of them. Having no clue as to where to start, Thosar opened the envelope and looked over the list of supplies required.

Wand...books...robes...robes,that might be a bit of a problem. In the Eternal City, all clothing had slits in the back, and you simply folded your wings against your shoulder blades. That wouldn't work quite so well with the school robes, he was guessing. He currently had them pressed against his bare skin, despite it being greatly uncomfortable. He would worry about that later, however.

First and foremost, a wand. It probably was unnecessary, seeing as he could easily do magic with just a few words in Latvian, but he wasn't about to risk it.

He studied the rows of stores uneasily. Ollivander's Wands was the obvious choice, so he quickly entered.

A young girl was already obtaining her wand, so Thosar hung back and watched as she let out a delighted squeal when a wand she had picked up emitted silver sparks.

"Ah," an old wizard who Thosar assumed was Ollivander said, "eleven and a half inches, willow. Good for healing magics. That will be seven galleons."

Galleons? Once the girl had left with her parents, Thosar approached Ollivander.

"Harry Potter," Ollivander said, stunning him, "Come to finally seek out your wand?"

"How did you..." he began, then his eyes widened. "You're part centaur!"

Ollivander smiled mysteriously. "Indeed I am, though only a small part. You, half-blood, are the first to realize this. Your birth was written in the stars. It caused great chaos among the heavenly bodies."

Thosar eyed him with new respect. "Tell me, than. Do I truly belong among wizards, or have I been doomed to walk a half life, never truly belonging to either faeries or wizards?"

Ollivander shook his head. "You walk a fine line, that is all I know. The path you choose shall determine the future of both worlds. I do not judge, only see."

Silence. Finally, Thosar said, "I come to find a wand, yet I know not the payment system among wizards."

Ollivander nodded. "Usually, I would not demand payment for one who holds such power and wise judgment for their age. However, I know of the faeries' honor, and therefore shall not. Go to Gringotts, the wizard bank, run by goblins. There, you should be able to open the vault left by your adoptive parents. Then, you may join me again, and find your wand."

Bowing his head, Thosar walked out.

* * *

Wizards were widely recognized for their love of gold, much like dragons. Therefore, the place that it was stored would be large, and heavily guarded.

He tapped a man passing by on the shoulder. When he turned around, Thosar asked, "I apologize for bothering you, sir,but might you mind directing me to Gringotts?" The faeries might see wizards as beneath them, but he had been trained to show proper respect to his elders, and he intended to do so, no matter of which species they might belong.

Thankfully not noticing his ears, the stranger kindly answered, "Go on straight down the alley, young man. You'll see it soon enough to your left. Hard to miss it, big and made of white marble."

Politely thanking him, Thosar went as directed, hearing the man say to his companion, "I just met the most courteous young man. It's so refreshing to meet a teenager with manners nowadays."

There it was. _Big and made of while marble _was an accurate enough description, but it did not nearly come close to describing it fully.

Any eye sharper than the average wizard's could make out the tiny, miniscule words covering the whole building. The same sentence, in every language.

_One day we shall be free. _That was rather odd. As far as he knew, the goblins had never in their history been enslaved. He supposed he would learn of the meaning in the words when he went in.

He took in the large words on the doors.

_Enter stranger, but take heed_

_Of what awaits the sin of greed_

_For those who take but do not earn,_

_Must pay most dearly in their turn,_

_So if you seek beneath our floors,_

_A treasure that was never yours,_

_Thief, you have been warned, beware_

_Of finding more than treasure there._

A bit morbid, but he suspected it warned off any thieves hastily. He pushed the door open, and made his way inside.


	5. Chapter 5 We're off to Gringotts

Thosar strolled slowly through the building, observing the workings taking place around him. Goblins: Age old creatures, famous for their forging of metal.

So many together at one time, and serving wizards... it was curious indeed.

Some measured precious stones, as others dutifully scribbled foreign figures down.

A wizard was arguing quite loudly and vehemently with the goblin at the front desk.

"-look, I don't give a damn what you say, dwarf, but I need to extract money from this account, and I don't need your fucking permission-"

The goblin, despite the man's obvious hostility, was quite unruffled.

"Mister Winslow" he said, somewhat snidely, "we are unable to do what you ask without the key, and if you are not one who is to be given access to the vault through either blood or relations, we cannot allow you to open the vault."

"Like hell you won't," the man snarled. He moved as if to grab the goblin by the throat, but a hand caught his wrist before it could reach him.

Pissed off, he turned to yell at the beast who had the audacity to grab him, to be stopped by a pair of livid emerald eyes.

"If you have any sense," Thosar said softly, dangerously,"you will leave."

Mister Winslow yanked himself free of his gasp and let out a final curse before stomping out.

The goblin watched this exchange with amusement. When the door finally slammed shut, he said, "I would like to thank you for your interceding. Things would have taken a turn for the worst had you not appeared."

He gave a slight bow. "I apologize for our costumer's behavior. When it comes to money, wizards can turn quite... violent."

He gave a crooked grin, showing a row of sharp, dagger-like teeth.

Thosar bowed in return.

Formalities finished, the goblin straightened up, eying him sharply. "What course of business have you come for, Mr...?"

"If you are willing, perhaps somewhere more private?" He said smoothly.

"Of course."The goblin led him to an enclosed room.

"I assure you, this room is heavily warded with spells preventing eavesdroppers. Not only that, we have a privacy policy that prevents me from speaking of this meeting to anyone else. No-one, save us, shall hear of our conversation without your permission."

Thosar settled down into a chair. "It is clear you take this very seriously."

"Oh yes. We are the best at our work, and shall remain that way."

"Just so. Now that formalities are out of the way, I would like to introduce myself. I am Thosar, better known to the wizarding world as Harry Potter."

The goblin's eyebrows shot up. "Harry Potter? You were presumed dead years ago. While we usually do not busy ourselves with the workings of wizards, your absence from Hogwarts created quite the riot. And now, four years later, you appear, indistinguishable, and half-faerie at that. However," he said, waving a hand, "I presume you do not wish to dwell on such matters. For what reason have you come here, Mister Potter? Am I to assume that you wish to extract money from the Potter vault?"

"That would be correct," Thosar said, feeling somewhat unnerved by the goblin's assessment.

"As it is, we require a drop of blood, to certify that you are the heir, unless, by chance, you might happen to have the key?"

"A drop of blood will do fine," Thosar said, waving his hand, "and yet, you have yet to tell me your name, goblin kin."

Something flickered across the goblin's face. "Gringott, named after my father's father."

That sunk in. "Your grandfather is _Gringott, _the founder of this very bank."

The goblin raised an eyebrow. "As I'm certain you well know, faerie, we goblins can live for any decades before eventually dying."

Thosar processed this. "I see. The blood?"

Gringott snapped his stubby fingers. As if by magic, a goblin appeared, waiting at his command.

"Griphook, a piece of reveal paper and a sterile needle, if you please."

Griphook disappeared, before coming back with the items requested.

"Thank you," Thosar said to the goblin. Looking wary, Griphook backed away.

"A single drop shall suffice, Mister Potter." Thosar relaxed his muscles, than stuck the needle into his left index finger. A small drop of blood oozed out of the wound.

He watched it drop, slowly, as if suspended in mid-air, onto the paper.

The moment it touched the sheet, words in a fancy script appeared.

_Harold James Potter by unofficial adoption._

Understanding filled the goblin's eyes. "That, Mister Potter, answers the question of your faerie blood."

Thosar closed his eyes. He, unwisely, had not previously thought about his heritage, but now it hit him full force.

Whom had sired him? Who had placed him in the care of the Potters?

Yet another mystery, another burden, added onto him as he was shoved unwillingly into the wizarding world.

In the Eternal City, his parentage had always been a question attached to his name, but it had never been viewed as something mandatory to seek out. There, he had been a faerie, pure and untainted. Now, with part of the truth unleashed upon his mind, it could only wonder desperately how it was that a wizard and a faerie could come to be so close as to have made him. When he considered it, it would make a good torture method, should he ever need one.

"Griphook," he heard Gringott say, "take Mister Potter to his vault." His eyes opened.

Automatically, he held out his hand to Gringott. "Thank you for your help."

He could see just the slightest glint of _something _in the goblin's eyes.

"No, Mister Potter. Thank _you."_

Mystified, Thosar watched him leave. Odd...

"This way, Mister Potter."

The cart moved frightfully fast. Thosar gripped the railing tightly.

The cart stopped suddenly. He staggered forward, Griphook looking on bemusedly. Taking out a golden key, the goblin unlocked the heavy door in front of them, swinging it open.

"Your vault, Mister Potter."

Gold. Piles and piles of gleaming gold, silver and bronze.

Thosar realized only know that he had forgotten to inquire over the money value in this world. He did so.

Golden galleons, silver sickles, bronze knuts. Twenty-nine knuts to a sickle, seventeen sickles to a galleon. Simple enough.

He swept a large amount of galleons and sickles into a leather pouch that Griphook had handed him silently

"If you are finished, Mister Potter, we shall be leaving," the goblin informed him.

* * *

Ten minutes later, he had returned to Ollivander's.

"Let us get to work on finding the wand for you, then, Mister Potter," the man said as he walked through the shelves. "Extend your wand arm."

Thosar lifted his right arm. A tape measure, seemingly of its own accord, flew up and starting measuring him, in just about every way possible.

"Your wand shall be particularly hard to uncover, seeing as the faerie magic in your blood should disrupt your wizard abilities to some extent." Ollivander spoke as he searched.

He pulled out a box near the front. "Try this. Holly, 11 inches, nice and supple."

Thosar picked up the wand eagerly.

Nothing happened.

Ollivander frowned in perplexity.

"Hm. That was...unexpected. Let's see if this one..."

A half hour and a large pile of discarded wands later, Thosar was beginning to feel frustrated. Ollivander, on the contrary, looked all the more positive.

"Tricky costumer, eh," he called out from near the back. "Don't worry, we'll get you situated soon enough."

He stepped forward, blowing dust off a leather case.

Taking out the wand, Ollivander stared off for a moment before snapping back to reality.

"Here." He said, handing it to Thosar. Thosar grasped the wand tightly.

Unlike all others he had tried, which had broken something or other, the wood of this one seemed to warm beneath his touch. A bright golden light surrounded him.

Ollivander was dumbfounded, judging from his expression as the gold faded away.

"Redwood, 10 inches, slightly bendy." His words were barely audible. "A single wing feather from a pegasi."

**Oh yeah, I am that awesome. Now, I have a question for you readers:**

**What is the name of the pet shop the Trio go to to get Ron's rat tonic? If you need more clues, Hermione bought Crookshanks PoA book disappeared. :(  
**

**Thanks if you do answer! **

**Review if you value your life. Literally. Oh, and another random question:**

**If you're dressing up for Halloween, what are you going to be?**

**Doctor Pepper  
**


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